Retief at Large (54 page)

            "My
apologies," Retief said, easing the Groaci pistol from inside his shirt.
"Protocol has never been my strong suit. Having committed
a faux pas,
I'd
best be on my way. Which route would be least likely to result in the demise of
any of your alert sentries?"

            "Stay,
off-worlder. Wouldst spread tidings of this unflattering event abroad, to the
detriment of my polling strength?"

            "Word
might leak out," Retief conceded. "Especially if any of your troops
get in my way."

            "
'Tis a shame not to be borne!" Hoobrik said hoarsely. "All Oberon
knoweth that only a Tsugg can smite another Tsugg senseless." He looked
thoughtful. "Still, if the molehill will not come to Meyer, Meyer must to
the molehill, as the saying goeth. Since thou hast in sooth felled my liegeman,
it follows you must be raised at once to Tsugghood, legitimizing the event
after the fact, as it were."

            "I'd
be honored," Retief said amiably. "Provided, of course, that you
authorize me to convey your gracious acceptance of His Excellency's
invitation."

            Hoobrik
looked glum. "Well—we can always loot the Embassy afterward. Very well,
Terry—Tsugg-to-be, that is. Done!" The chieftain heaved his bulk from the
hammock, stirred Dir Blash with a booted toe, at which the latter groaned and
sat up.

            "Up,
sluggard!" Hoobrik roared. "Summon a few varlets to robe me for a
formal occasion! And my guest will require suitable robes, too." He
glanced at Retief. "But don't don them yet, lest they be torn and
muddied."

            "The
ceremony sounds rather strenuous," Retief commented.

            "Not
the ceremony," Hoobrik corrected. "That cometh later. First cometh
the Ordeal. If you survive that I'll have my tailor fit you out as befits a
sub-chief of the Tsugg."

-

            The
Ceremonial Site for Ordeal Number One—a clearing on forest slope with a
breath-taking view of the valley below—was crowded with Tsugg tribesmen,
good-naturedly quarreling, shouting taunts, offering and accepting wagers and
challenges, passing wineskins from hand to grimy hand.

            "All
right, everybody out of the Ring of the First Trial," Dir Blash shouted,
implementing his suggestion with hearty buffets left and right. "Unless ye
plan to share the novitiate's hazards."

            The
mountaineers gave ground, leaving an open space some fifty feet in diameter, to
the center of which Retief was led.

            "All
right, the least ye can do is give the off-worlder breathing space." Dir
Blash exhorted the bystanders to edge back another yard. "Now, Retief—this
is a sore trial, 'tis true, but 'twill show you the mettle of the Tsugg, that
we impose so arduous a criterion on our-sel's!" He broke off at a sound of
crashing in the underbrush. A pair of tribesmen on the outer fringe of the
audience flew into the air as if blown up by a mine, as with ferocious snorts,
a wild Vorch, seven feet at the shoulder and armed with down-curving tusks, charged
from the underbrush. His rush carried him through the ranks of the spectators
into the inner circle, his short tail whipping, his head tossing as he sought a
new target. His inflamed eye fell on Dir Blash.

            "Botheration,"
the latter commented in mild annoyance as the beast lowered its head and
charged. Leaning aside, the Tsugg raised a fist of the size and weight of a
hand-axe, brought it down with a resounding
brongg!
on the carnivore's
skull. The unlucky beast folded in mid-leap, skidded chin-first to fetch up
against Retief's feet.

            "Nice
timing," he remarked. "Ye'd think the brute did it a-purpose, to
plague a serious occasion," Dir Blash said disapprovingly. "Drag the
silly creature away," he directed a pair of Tsugg. "He'll be broke to
harness for his pains. And now," he turned to Retief, "if ye're
ready—"

            Retief
smiled encouragingly.

            "Right,
then. The first trial is—take a deep breath and hold it for the count of
ten." Dir Blash watched Retief's expression alertly for signs of dismay.
Seeing none, he raised a finger disappointedly.

            "Very
well. Inhale."

            Retief
inhaled.

            "Onetwothreefourf
ivesixseveneightnineten," Dir Blash said in a rush and stared curiously at
the Terran, who stood relaxed before him. A few approving shouts rang out. Then
came scattered hand-claps.

            "Well,"
Dir Blash grunted. "You did pretty fair, I suppose, for an off-worlder.
Hardly turned blue at all. You pass, I suppose."

            "Hey,"
someone called from the front rank of the gallery. "He's not—"

            "Not
still—" someone else queried.

            "Still
holding his breath?" a third Tsugg then asked wonderingly.

            "O'
course not, lackwits!" Dir Blash bellowed. "How could he? 'E'en Grand
Master Cutthroat Dir-dir Hooch held out but to the count of twelve!" He
looked closely at Retief. "Thous hast indeed resumed respiration?" he
murmured.

            "Of
course," Retief reassured the Tsugg. "I was just grandstanding."

            Dir
Blash grunted. "In sooth, I've a feeling ye went a good thirteen, if truth
were known," he muttered confidentially. "Hast made a specialty of
suffocation?"

            "Staff
meetings, remember?" Retief prompted.

            "To
be sure." Dir Blash looked disgruntled. "Well, on to the Second
Trial, Terry. Yeil find this one e'en a straiter test of Tsugghood than the
last!" He led the way upslope, Retief close behind, the crowd following.
The path deteriorated into a rocky gully winding up between nearly vertical
walls of rock. Pebbles rattled around the party from the crumbling cliffs above
as members clambered toward choice vantage points. A medium-sized boulder came
bounding down from a crag to whistle overhead and crash thunderously away among
the trees below. The journey ended in a small natural amphitheater, the floor
of which was thickly littered with stones of all sizes. Spectators took up positions
around the periphery above as pebbles continued to clatter down around the
tester and testee, who stood alone at the center of the target. A head-sized
rock smashed down a yard from Retief. A chunk the size of a grand piano poised
directly above him gave an ominous rumble and slid downward six inches amid a
shower of gravel.

            "What
happens if one of those scores a bull's-eye on the candidate?" Retief
inquired.

            "It's
considered a bad omen," Dir Blash said. "Drat the pesky motes!"
he added as a small fragment bounded off the back of his neck. "These
annoyances detract from the solemnity of the occasion."

            "On
the contrary," Retief demurred politely. "I think they add a lot of
interest to the situation."

            "Umm.
Mayhap." Dir Blash gazed absently upward, moving his head slightly to
avoid being brained by a baseball-sized missile. "Now, off-worlder,"
he addressed Retief, "prepare for the moment of truth. Bend over—" he
paused impressively—" and touch your toes!"

            "Do
I get to bend my knees?" Retief temporized.

            "Bend
whatever you like," Dir Blash said with airy contempt. "I trow this
is one feat ye've not practiced at your Ordeal of the Staff Meeting!"

            "True,"
Retief conceded. "The closest we come is lifting ourselves by our
bootstraps." He assumed a serious expression, bent over and, with a smooth
motion, touched his fingertips to his toes.

            "He
did it in one try," someone called.

            "Didn't
even take a bounce!" another added.

            The
applause was general.

            "Lacking
in style," Dir Blash grumbled. "But a pass, I allow. But now you face
the Third Ordeal, where ye're tricks will do ye no good. Come along." They
moved off. The stone piano crunched down on the spot he and Retief had just
vacated.

            The
route to the Third Site led upward through a narrow cut to emerge on a bare
rock slope. Fifty feet away a flat-topped rock spire loomed up from the depths,
joined to the main mass of the peak by a meandering ribbon of rock some six
inches in width, except where it narrowed to a knife edge, halfway across. Dir
Blash sauntered out across the narrow bridge, gazing around him at the scenery.

            "A
splendid prospect, eh, Retief?" he called over his shoulder. "Look on
it well; it may be thy last. What comes next has broken many a strong Tsugg
down into a babbling Glert."

            Retief
tried the footing; it held. Keeping his eyes on the platform ahead, he walked
quickly across.

            "Now,"
Dir Blash said, "you may wish to take a moment to commune with your patron
devils or whatever it is you off-worlders burn incense to."

            "Thanks,
I'm in good shape incantation-wise," Retief reassured him. "Only last
night I joined in a toast to the auditors."

            "In
that case—" Dir Blash pointed impressively to a flat stone that lay across
two square rocks, the top of which cleared the ground by a good twelve inches.

            "Leap
the obstacle in a single bound."

            Retief
studied the hurdle from several angles before taking up his position before it.

            "I
see you hesitate," Dir Blash taunted. "Dost doubt thy powers at last,
Terry?"

            "Last
year an associate of mine jumped fifty names on the promotion list,"
Retief said. "Can I do less?" Standing flat-footed, he hopped over
the barrier. Turning, he hopped back again.

            There
was a moment of stunned silence.

            Suddenly
pandemonium broke out. Dir Blash hesitated only a moment, then joined in the
glad cries.

            "Congratulations,
Dir Tief!" he bellowed, pounding the Terran on the shoulder. "I
warrant an off-worlder of thy abilities would be an embarrassment to all
hands—but in sooth thou'rt now a Tsugg of the Tsuggs, and thy attainments are
an adornment to our ilk!"

-

            "Remarkable,"
said Hoobrik the Uncouth as he stuffed a handful of sugar-coated green olives
into his mouth. "According to Blash you went through the Ordeal like a
Tsugg to the pavilion born. I may keep you on as bodyguard, Dir Tief, after I
get the vote out and myself in."

            "Coming
from your Truculence, that's praise indeed," Retief said.
"Considering your willingness to offer yourself as a candidate without a
whimper."

            "What's
to whimper?" Hoobrik demanded. "After my lads have rounded up more
voters than the opposition can muster, I'll be free to fill my pockets as best
I may. 'Tis a prospect I face calmly."

            "True,"
Retief said. "But first there are a few rituals to be gotten past. There's
Whistle-stopping, Baby-kissing, Fence-sitting, and Mud-slinging, plus a
considerable amount of Viewing with Alarm."

            "Hmm."
Hoobrik rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are these Ordeals the equal of our
Rites of Tsugg-hood, Retief?"

            "Possibly
even worse," Retief solemnly assured the chieftain. "Especially if
you wear an Indian war bonnet."

            "Out
upon it!" Hoobrik pounded his tankard on the table. "A Tsugg fears
neither man nor beast."

            "But
did you ever face a quorum of Women Voters?" Retief countered quickly.